


Safe.

by Fidele



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren trash, One Shot, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Smut, What Have I Done, here there be smut, king of the dumpster, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidele/pseuds/Fidele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren fears Snoke may suspect something about his private affairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello! New author. Just a few notes:
> 
> 1\. This fic is exactly what it's meant to be: a good, old-fashioned, Reader/Kylo smutty-fluff one shot. Pretty much it's just something I wanted to get out of my system--I didn't overthink it, and ideally, you won't either. 
> 
> 2\. Takes place just before the events of TFA.
> 
> 3\. Added the rape/non-con warning tag because it's implied. Never acted out, but there are references to it still in the subtext which may be triggering.
> 
> Constructive feedback welcome! If you need me I'll be in the dumpster where I belong.

"Are you awake?"

The rasping whisper lingers on your cheek, hot and coarse as desert air. By the time your eyes flutter open, hands are already fumbling with your shirt collar, trying to loosen the drawstrings.

It's dark beyond the glass of the eastern wall. Though ever since the Base consumed the system's sun days before, day and night don't really mean much anymore. The tundra outside sprawls low against the horizon, a vast, jagged expanse of ice and fresh snow, galvanized in a shining haze of starlight. Inside the outpost, the only light comes from the generator a few flights down, a heatless, sulphuric red glow fountaining up through the seams of the steel floor grating, only complicating the shadows further rather than dispelling them. Through the scarlet-tinged gloom, you make out a tall, lithe figure crouching over you, trying to take off your shirt.

Kylo Ren is naked down to his waist, his face moonlight-pale, partially eclipsed by the curtain of dark hair that's fallen across one eye. His gaze is turned downward, fixated on your shirt--his, really, a small voice reminds you, still half-asleep--as his efforts to untie the collar strings grow more and more frustrated. Pearls of sweat glisten on his brow, catching in his lashes. But you don't think much of it. By design, the secret trail to the abandoned mountain post is physically grueling, even if he hates to admit it. It's likely he just arrived.

You only realize something is wrong when he utters a growl of exasperation, seizes your shirt--his shirt--and with a single, sharp tug, rips it clean apart. The tear skates all the way past your belly, down to the hem that hangs at your hips, until there's nothing left between him and your naked body except the silent, steel-chilled air, causing your skin to erupt in a ripple of goosebumps.

"Kylo," you call out, startled, your voice is still so thickly caked with sleep it cracks under the strain. " _Kylo._ "

But he's not listening. He's too intent on grappling with your newly exposed hips--you're not even sure if he's ignoring you or just didn't hear. Your heart leaps into your throat, driving out the last bit of sleep from your mind.

"Kylo-- _stop_."

You seize his face in both hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. It's there you see the truth that wasn't apparent at first: he's so pale his lips are almost colorless, and he's trembling from head to foot, though not from cold.

With a lurch of dread, you recognize that fire behind his eyes--eyes like treated pieces of obsidian, hardened and flaked with fragments of the hateful red glow that fills the room, flashing like living sparks in his irises. He's in the throes of some fit: you can sense the savage anger coursing like lava through his veins, his mind, as well as his desperation to purge it. But after the climb to the outpost and gods know what else he was doing at the command center, he doesn't have the strength to check it anymore--which, no doubt, only makes him angrier. It reminds him that he's not as strong as he thinks he is.

You've seen this temper destroy him from the inside out before, eating him alive--you should know. The last time it happened, he took it out on you.

He apologized, in his own way, and as far as you could tell, he'd meant it when he said he'd never do it again--but all the regret in the world didn't make the bruises fade any faster.

You meet his gaze hard and unflinching, steeling yourself as you fight to meet the insanity crackling behind his eyes without shivering. _His fury is fire, in the moment,_ you think _, but my anger is ice, steadfast and unyielding. If I crack and splinter now, he'll destroy us both. I must win out, for both our sakes._

You don't think you have the grace to forgive him a second time.

He says nothing, but his expression clenches in rage, his breathing labored, swelling into his chest and shoulders. A part of him wants to fight you--though you're lucky that, for the present, it's not the part of him controlling his hands anymore, which are still clamped on your bare thighs.

"Stop," you say again, firmly, evenly, but not harsh, more of a command than a plea. He'd see a plea as a weakness, an acknowledgement that he has all the control, and you none. _I must not crack and splinter. He is stronger than me, but there_ must _be a part of him doesn't want to harm me. There must_. "Not like this."

Not for the first time, you're grateful he can't enter your mind. If he could, he'd see the fear you're masking, bring your whole facade crashing down, razed at its foundation. But you also know if you dwell on your fear too much, feeding it, turning it over and over in your mind like a nervous tic, he'd be able to sense it without having to get into your thoughts.

You don't know how long you the two of you stay there, him arched over you, heaving like a wounded animal, locked in an unspoken battle of wills. The silence stretches into what feels like an eternity, and for the flicker of a moment, the strange notion comes to you that the two of you could stay trapped like this forever. _The unstoppable force meets the immovable object_ , a distant voice notes. It never occurred to you that the profound moment of impact would be so quiet.

Then, finally, slowly, but surely, you begin to see the madness drain out of him, cooling and turning brittle before crumbling into ash as he returns to his senses. His breathing steadies, his expression softens--the fire in his eyes gutters, dwindling down to no more than smoke and ghosts.

Beneath him, his grip on your thighs relaxes. With a moan that you may have imagined more than heard, he surrenders, collapsing into your arms, head hung in fatigue, burying his face between your breasts. You can feel the heat of his breath collect in clouds against your bare skin, and you're only glad he can't see the sigh of relief that escapes you. _Not so unstoppable after all._

At least, not yet.

You plant a tepid kiss in his hair, holding him tight, trying to shake off the unpleasant thought that your time with him may be running out faster than you realized. "Tell me everything."

But Kylo Ren doesn't answer right away. His eyes are half closed, cheek cradled in the valley of your sternum. With one hand he starts to play with your exposed breast, idly teasing the areola with his thumb and forefinger. There's something childish about it, a kind of absent-minded fascination at the way it pebbles, hardening into a point. It's not meant to arouse you so much as distract him, though you feel a slight squirm deep between your legs all the same.

But you choose to ignore it for the moment. Something more important is on his mind, and something tells you it will be better for the both of you if you can coax it out of him. You brush a length of hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear, and try again, this time in earnest. "Kylo--tell me."

He exhales through his nose, giving your breast a final pinch that's a bit sharper than necessary. When he speaks, his tone is low and somber as a dirge.

"Supreme Leader knows."

The three simple words flush you with a brand new degree of chill. You pause mid-stroke, your fingers still entangled in his hair. "How much?" Your voice has a quaver you only hope he doesn't notice.

"Enough," comes the short reply. "He suspects I'm hiding something from him."

Relief floods through you, and you nearly scoff out loud. You should have known he was exaggerating. "Suspecting something is not the same as knowing anything."

He doesn't take kindly to the dismissal. He looks up, shooting you a sharp look of affrontment. "He tries to enter my thoughts when he thinks my guard is down, " he bristles. "And the longer I resist, the more it confirms his suspicions that there is something I don't wish him to see."

From what you know of Supreme Leader Snoke--which isn't much more than rumors and what Kylo has told you--this seems a fair assertion, though you'd give anything not to admit it. "Has he asked you? _Directly_?"

"There is more mistrust in his commands now," Kylo says. "But he has not accused me of concealing outright."

The knot in your chest releases by a fraction. "Well then," you swoop in for a deep kiss that stops his breath momentarily, only to finish the thought as you break apart. "There's no cause for concern."

You slip out from beneath him, crossing the floor towards the rations console in the corner. His shirt hangs off of you more like a haphazard robe now that it's torn, the thin fabric offering barely any buffer between your skin and the natural chill in the room. Your teeth are chattering by the time you punch in the command for water. 

" _No cause for concern_ ," He repeats silkily. Even from across the room, you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head. "I see. And will it be no cause for concern as well, when he does accuse me outright? What am I do to then? Hmm?"

As it happens, you know exactly what he should do, though you choose not to say it aloud. It would be treasonous, what you want to suggest, and you're still not sure if he's in a forgiving enough mood to hear it just yet.

But whether you want him to or not, he seems to catch the meaning of your silence.

There's a shifting noise as he rises off the bed, coming toward you as the console starts dispensing liquid into a cup. You refrain from turning to face him as he approaches, his footfalls reverberating through the floor, louder and heavier with each step until they stop directly behind you. Fingers sweep your hair off the back of your neck; he presses close into your back, towering over you in a way that might seem protective, if you didn't already know that it's meant to cut off any avenue of escape. Not that you'd want to, now that his anger's run its course. Now that he's back to the Kylo Ren you know as your lover.

Your natural instinct when he's so close is, in fact, to turn and fuck him where he stands--the idea of him, pinned to the floor beneath you, howling in ecstasy even as he fights himself to stay severe with you incites a different kind of shiver through your body. But you smother this urge, carefully shelving it away from your forethoughts, and reach for the cup without a word.

"Are you suggesting," he has to bend almost double to hiss into your ear, "that I lie to Supreme Leader Snoke?"

"On the contrary," you say carefully, raising the cup to your lips, "I don't believe I suggested anything."

Without warning, he grabs you by the hips, spinning you around so fast you almost slosh water onto the floor. You inhale sharply, surprise written all over your expression as you face him. There's a dark, agitated glitter in his eyes now, though different from the one that had been there before--dangerous still, but not as crazed, more channeled. It's a triumphant, hungry look, the difference between the calculating predator, and the insanity of the cornered animal.

"I may not be able to sense your innermost thoughts," he says, lifting your chin so that you can't look away. "But you project emotion like anyone else. Do you know what I felt, just now, radiating off your skin like a solar wind?"

You're too intent on his face to notice his other hand slide down toward your thighs. Before you have a chance to speak, his fingers jam between your legs, pressing mercilessly into your slit, causing you to give a soft moan of surprise and pleasure. At the sound, the glow in Ren's eye ignites into a blaze.

"Desire," he says, a wolfish smile spreading across his face.

You can feel yourself start to grow wet as his hand moves deeper inward, probing clumsily for your clit. You don't even realize you've dropped your cup until you hear the smash of it hitting the floor, feel water splashing across your feet, but you're so immobilized with pleasure you barely notice or care. With one hand, you guide his fingers up to the little nub of flesh between your legs, already stiff and swollen by the time he finds it. With the other, you move the hand he has under your chin up to your lips. You savor the way his expression screws as you suck his fingertips, teasing him with your tongue and the barest tips of your teeth. You're pressed against him so tightly that you can feel him grow hard against your belly.

"What do I have to do," you manage in a whisper, "to get you inside me right this second?"

He seizes your waist in a vice-like grip, his breath already hoarse with need. "Submit."

He picks you up, straddling your legs around his waist, carrying you as easily as if you were a child. You're not petite, but given how tall he is, you might as well be. The two of you collide together into an urgent, desperate kiss that lasts all the way back to the bed.

He lays you on your back, already on top of you and crawling between your legs. The tip of his pointed nose starts to graze a light path down your sternum, gliding toward your navel. It spears you with a shudder of anticipation, a soft moan escaping you in the process. Through the gathering haze of pleasure, you manage to guide his hands onto to your breasts. He squeezes them, not gently, sending a bristle of excitement shooting down into your loins. Only then, at last, do you feel the throbbing tip of his engorged cock is at your entrance. Without hesitating, you loop your arms around his neck, and just as he ordered, you submit, arching your hips and bracing yourself. A sweet burst of agony racks your body as he penetrates--hard. You can't tell who's groan you heard first, or who was louder. Your mind is already half way gone by the first stroke, though there's still enough left to catch the faint ' _fuck_ ' of disbelief he utters under his breath.

His thrusts start slow and careful, an animal exploring new boundaries, savoring the sensation of your cunt clamped around him, slick with juices. Every time he withdraws, even a little, it only makes you want to bear down harder, greedy to keep every swollen inch of him inside you that you can. One hand he keeps under your knee, the other pressed to your mound, working your clit ruthlessly with his thumb, racking you in constant waves of fiery pleasure. Before long, his thrusts quicken, driving deeper, becoming more and more forceful, painful in a way you wish would never end. You start to clench up, digging your fingernails into his back; you can feel the pressure building all over your body, promising a release so spectacular it will leave your nerves raw and crackling. The sting of your nails embedded in his skin seems to goad him into a new level of frenzy: with every new thrust comes a deep, carnivorous groan of exertion. His rhythm accelerates to the point where you can't keep up, and he crooks your knee over his shoulder to keep you steady.

You climax first, and it's every bit as violent and earth-shattering as you dreamed. You try to bite back the moan as your entire body seizes, arching as if drawn taught by an invisible string of raw, seething pleasure, but you don't have the senses to stay silent for long. The sound of it pushes him over the edge; he comes shortly after, even before you're fully finished, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a howl that's positively primitive. You can feel his seed pumping into you, filling your belly with heat, and for a sweet, euphoric moment that seems to exist outside of any linear time, the two of you are caught in a blistering, weightless splendor together.

When he does at last roll off of you, it feels like you've been dropped straight into a snowdrift, though on the inside you're still basking in the throes of your orgasm. _If blood changed colors_ , a distant voice in your head observes, _it would be flowing as rivers of white-hot gold through my veins._

You lay quietly together for a time, his arms around you, palms cupping your breasts, lips caressing the tender curve where your neck and shoulders meet. Neither of you feel the need to speak; you've already agreed, in your own, unspoken language that words would only distract from the moment. 

There's a stretch of quiet where you might have dozed off together, but eventually, he's the first to rise. Stealing one last kiss that ends as a sharp nibble on your ear, he sits up and reaches for his pants. You watch him dress for a moment, then turn your attention to the cum streaking down your legs, white rivulets shining faintly in the poor lighting. You snatch a sheet and begin to wipe it away. As you're preoccupied, Kylo looks over his shoulder, the suggestion of a frown dragging at the corners of his lips, the question manifesting on his face even before he says it aloud.

"You're certain the surgery on Coruscant was successful?"

You toss the sheet to the floor and collapse back into the pillows with a contented sigh. "If it hadn't been, we'd have known long before now."

He responds only with a short grunt of satisfaction and doesn't press the matter further. He cinches his belt taught around his narrow waist before bending down to gather his tunic from where it had fallen to the floor.

"You bit me again," you say in a rueful half-tease, admiring the way the muscles on his back roll with liquid ease as he situates his tunic. You can still feel the echoes of the dull sting of where his teeth landed. Absently, your fingers crawl up to your clavicle, testing for the welt that will soon appear.

He leans back and catches you in a hard kiss, gnawing at your bottom lip a little when he finally pulls away. "A small price to pay."

You roll your eyes and give a snort; your way of reminding him that he's not the one that had to pay it. "You're only lucky the collars on my uniform are so high," you remark. "If they weren't, Hux wouldn't need more than half a glance to figure it out."

"Hux has known since before the weapon charged."

The statement is so blunt and unexpected that it freezes you like a blow to the back of your head. Hux knows? Has known? " _What?_ " You sputter, desperate to believe that you didn't hear right.

Kylo shrugs and goes to retrieve his boots, the picture of disinterest. "He is of no concern. He knows the consequences that await should he even consider letting slip to Supreme Leader or any officers beneath him about our affairs."

The sheer volume of casual indifference in Kylo's tone hurts more than the revelation itself. Vaguely you can feel your face go white, outrage boiling up from deep inside you. "And you didn't see it necessary to tell me?" You demand acidly. "I am under his _direct command_ at the communication consoles! What if he'd gotten it in his head to take it out on me--punish me for it, or else got it in his head to reassign me, hmm? What _then_?"

Kylo looks up from his boots coolly, his dark eyes entirely unreadable. "Has he treated you unfairly?"

"Well--not yet, no," you admit, your reluctance making you flustered, "but he still could--"

"Yet he will not," Kylo interrupts smoothly. "Because he knows I will hear of it if he does."

You don't see a way to refute this, but you want to so badly that his assurance is more infuriating than a comfort. You turn over in the bed, putting your back to him and glowering at the far wall in silence, stewing over the injustice of it.

Kylo finishes dressing--not a quick task--then returns to join you on the bed, a gesture that half-surprises you. You wouldn't have put it past him to walk out without another word, though distantly you recognize that this is just your spite talking, digging for more reasons to stay mad at him. He coaxes you onto your back, so that you're looking up as he looms over you, dominating your field of vision. There's a distinct air of condescension in the way he regards you for a moment, one brow quirked.

"You didn't truly think your sick leave request was plausible enough to get approval by itself, did you?" He asks down at you.

The sleek accusation finds its mark on your pride. You prop yourself up, glaring at him. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I didn't see why it should matter." He says, leaning in to placate you with another kiss aimed at your lips. But you turn sharply, sourly, so that it glances off and plants on your cheek instead.

"It matters," you say, "because I care."

He straightens and scrutinizes you for a moment, his glance cold and impassive as the steel walls. Finally, he narrows his eyes.

"Then you are foolish."

His tone is clipped, a book snapping shut, and you understand the conversation is over.

He makes as if to rise. But not altogether realizing what you're doing, you catch his hand before he can. He pauses, looking back at you with a mixture of expectancy and hesitation.

You heave an internal sigh. You can't bear the thought of him leaving on such a frigid note, disappearing beneath that faceless, empty-eyed mask of his for you don't know how long. Just the thought of it alone feels like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," you say, knowing it's what he wants to hear, though doing your best to mean it all the same. "I didn't mean to doubt you."

He seems to accept it. And this time, when he comes in for another kiss, you don't shy away. You allow his searching tongue to part through your lips, driving into your mouth, savoring the deeper taste of you. His hands start to glide back down to your breasts, already pining for the softness of your body. You resist the urge to give into it--your time is short, you remind yourself. You knew it would be the first time the two of you came crashing together in a torrent of lust and limbs and confusion.

The memory of that day brings the shape of a fond smile to your kiss; it wasn't all that long ago when Hux came striding up to your console to inform you that you'd been summoned to the chambers of Kylo Ren, but looking back from the vantage of where you were now, it feels like you're looking back across galaxies. You were terrified, and so very naive. At the time it seemed like a death sentence: not going meant facing Hux's wrath, and going meant facing Kylo Ren alone, a prospect you wouldn't have wished on your worst enemy.

But then you'd seen his face for the first time. It made perfect sense now, but at the time, the reality of it had left you speechless with bewilderment. How could he be so young, you wondered--already so powerful? He'd summoned you to demand to know why he couldn't enter your mind. That was when you thought for sure he was about to cut you down where you stood. How were you supposed to know? _He_ was the one trained in the Force, you thought.  _He_ was supposed to be the one with answers. Not you. You were just a communications officer on the command deck, a drone in the collective shadow of the First Order. Nothing more.

You'd done your best to explain this, stumbling through an answer you hoped wouldn't get you killed. But then, to everyone's surprise--even his, you later suspected--he'd cut you off with a kiss so infused with passion that you can only look back on it and describe it as angry. In the following months, that anger had softened--or so you thought. Though after what had happened earlier, you can't be so sure that traces of it don't still remain.

The two of you finally part. You fall back into the bed, still smiling and relishing the memory. Ren himself never smiles--at least, not for any conventional reasons--but you can tell he's just as pleased.

"I can feel your happiness," he tells you, his tone oddly quiet. "A bright spot in this gloom."

You accept that he's referring to the lighting conditions of the room, but there's a part of you that can't help wondering. You study each other for a moment, trying to decipher the other's thoughts. Ren's full lips draw taught briefly as he considers you, but at last, he resigns, sighing and leaning forward to plant one last kiss in your hair.

"I will hear of any signs of prejudice Hux shows against you?" It's a prompt, not a statement. Your response is a wordless nod.

"Good," he rises off the bed and goes toward the door. "The only question remaining, then, is what to do when Supreme Leader finds out."

Your heart sinks a few inches in your chest. You'd hoped he'd forgotten all about that. You can almost see the way his mind clouds over, the way his shoulders seem to crowd together under the weight of the notion as he stalks across the room. He stashed his mask on a lower tier of a shelf protruding by the hatched entranceway when he first came in. It's the same place he always leaves it. You're careful to keep that spot empty and convenient whenever the two of you make plans to come out to the post; your own, private, subliminal way of encouraging him to leave any pretenses at the door.

"When that day comes," you say quietly, "we'll have a plan."

But you can tell he doesn't believe you by his silence. He shakes back his hair out of his eyes and lifts the mask, preparing to don it again, and your heart sinks even further, understanding he means to leave.

"Do you have to go so soon?"

His only response is a bland glance. You knew the answer before you asked, but it didn't stop you from trying anyway. It never does.

His eyes never leave you as he sets the mask over his head. It's like watching him drown in darkness, the way his face disappears, first his eyes, then his nose, and last, his lips. It leaves you with a bleak, hollow feeling, knowing there's nothing you can do to prevent it. A series of grinding clicks announce that the apparatus has settled into place, and suddenly, the man is gone, replaced by a faceless, masked machine that chills you deeper than any force of nature the tundra outside could contrive.

"Return to the command center by tomorrow night," there's the barest note of his true voice beneath the distortion of the mask, but it's difficult to tell where the line between the two lies. The flat command prompts an unconscious response from your dormant sense of duty and discipline; without realizing it right away, you sit a little straighter in bed.

"I had a full three days of sick leave approved." You remind him.

"I will not return again," he says, "and it will appear more convincing if you resume your duties before the full duration of your leave expires."

 _Not returning?_ You nearly protest out loud--what the hell were you supposed to do here for another whole day if he wasn't going to return? Play Dejarik against yourself until your brain came bleeding out of your ears from the sheer monotony? But you bite back your frustration at the last second. It's no good to argue with him, least of all when he wears his mask. You can only assume he's ordering you to stay for so long because it will seem less conspicuous than the two of you returning within a few hours of each other, though the logic of this plan doesn't make you feel any better.

The hatch wipes open from either side as he steps forward. But before he can leave, a sudden thought catches him on the threshold, making him pause.

"...A rebellion scouting party was intercepted close by, no doubt testing the Base's shield system," he says. "An attack is almost certainly eminent." He seems to wrestle with himself briefly, before adding in a softer tone, "use caution. See that you return to the base...safe."

With a sweeping flourish of black, he's gone, the doors snapping shut behind him. The dull clank of the lock setting hangs heavy in the room, a dismal note of inescapable finality. Ren's retreating footsteps eventually fall silent, and you're left alone in the frigid, red-hemmed gloom.

But deep in your chest, in a place so remote and secluded that neither the cold nor dark can reach, an ember still burns.

 _Safe_ , you cling to the word with all your heart and mind and soul, as if afraid it might float off at any second and disappear like it had never existed, like you were imagining it. _He wants me to be safe._

The Kylo Ren that stalks the decks of the command base, savaging consoles during tantrums and growling orders to Hux, is not one to care if a lowly, disposable communications officer returned safely.

And yet, somehow, the Kylo Ren that just left room _does_.

 _He does care_ , your heartbeat soars at the thought. At least a part of him does--a part that even the mask could no longer hide.

Something in the back of your mind warns that this can only spell danger; what happens when he convinces himself that caring for you is a weakness, a shortcoming to be purged? But you're too inundated with the warm, quiet joy of the revelation to give this possibility much notice. That day will come in its own time. For now, he cares, however reluctantly, and that's enough.

Without much else to do, you decide the best way to pass the time is to sleep away as much of it as possible before returning to the base. It doesn't really dawn on you how exhausted you are until you're face-down in the pillow, and all at once the world starts to slide out from under you, dissolving into gray haze.

 _Safe_. Only the word stays sharp, repeating like a pulse in your mind, calming and hypnotic. _Safe. Safe. Safe_.

"I love you too," you confess in a sleepy murmur, hoping beyond hope that he can somehow hear you from miles away.

It might have only been the dream you slipped into a few moments later, warping your perception of what was real and what you imagined--but for reasons you couldn't explain, you felt sure he had.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional notes:
> 
> 1.This was probably WAY too long and I'm sorry but if you stuck with it all the way through, you're beautiful.
> 
> 2\. This is the first time I've ever written smut. It was fun. >:)


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